


Questions in Neon Lights

by littlehuntress



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bartender AU, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6842638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/pseuds/littlehuntress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a bad, bad idea but Clint still thinks about kissing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions in Neon Lights

When he first sees him Clint dismisses him as a kid with too much energy and terrible taste in alcohol. His fingers are tapping the beat of the song playing against the bar, bouncing a little like he can't stay put for a second. His face is flushed and his white-gray hair is mated to his forehead. He nods as Clint passes him the blue colored drink he ordered and Clint watches him move away fast without spilling even a bit of the liquid, right before he gets lost among the mass of bodies on the dance floor. He doesn't leave a tip and for the rest of the night Clint grumbles about having to serve alcohol and neon colored cocktails to drunken morons. 

The second time, the kid makes a comment about Clint's music taste, pointedly looking at his shirt before he disappears and leaves Clint gaping after him. The Dead Kennedy's are amazing, thank you very much. 

The third time he notices his accent, this heavy lilt to his words Clint isn't sure how he missed it before. Natasha has his ID on her hand, checking he's actually legal and Clint peers right over her shoulder. 

"What kind of name is Pietro?" Clint asks, and if there's a mocking tinge to his voice he didn't mean to. Okay, only a little. 

"And what kind of anti-authoritarian works at a bar?" He returns just as mocking. 

Natasha laughs, giving Pietro back his ID happily willing to disregard the fact it's probably fake, only because he leaves Clint stunned as he walks away. 

"I like him," she announces and Clint reconsiders their entire friendship on that second. 

Except he can't stay mad at her for too long. She's Nat after all. Plus, it's never a good idea to argue with your roommate.

+++

The high energy beats of the techo music Thor keeps subjecting them to dances over the walls and jumps over him, becomes a hum beneath his skin. It's too loud and sometimes he has to reach over the bar so he can listen to whatever people are ordering. The place is packed and he's sure Tony is up on the VIP floor patting himself on the back for being such a good business man.

"He's back," Natasha announces over the thump thump of the music, her red hair getting on his face as she turns around fast. He blows away the locks closest to his mouth. His eyes soon find the person she's talking about. Pietro's walking over to the bar like the kid's mission is to constantly annoy the shit out of him. 

Automatically he starts preparing a _deep blue sea_ for him, pouring vodka and blue curaçao, frowning as soon as the glass is full with the mixture and he holds it like it's offended him somehow. Natasha snorts right beside him. It's not his fault he's good at his job and remembers what regulars order. It's nothing out of the ordinary. The look Natasha shoots him tells him otherwise. 

"The service is getting better around here," Pietro shouts to be heard above the noise. Finger running around the brim. Bringing it to his mouth and sucking it where it got wet with liqueur. 

"You should be a little nicer, kid," Clint answers, leaning over with his arms folded over the bar, stupidly noticing the green-blue of his eyes. 

"When are you going to stop calling me kid?" 

"When you change your shitty attitude." 

He laughs, laughs so loud and bright Clint forgets about the loop of noise in the background and focuses on this new fascinating sound he should be hearing more often. 

He's utterly fucked.

+++

Clint creates a list in his head of why this is a bad idea. He's at least five years older than the kid. Pietro is annoying, cocky, used his real name on his fake ID, orders the same horrible blue thing every single time, has a scary twin sister who looks like she could break every bone in Clint's body if he makes the wrong move. And to top it all she only seems to like Natasha. This is a bad idea because Clint has probably been thinking about tasting the sweat on Pietro's skin when he sees him after hours of dancing.

He's on a break when he realizes his list was a futile exercise. He's standing near the bar as Pietro appears by his side, unbound energy and shiny eyes. 

"Want something to drink?" 

"Shouldn't that be my line?" 

Pietro shrugs, turns around and comes back with a beer and his usual drink, handing over the beer to him. He takes it, letting the cool liquid settle him but it doesn't work. Pietro is too close. 

"Wanna dance?" 

He should say no, but he stumbles blindly into the dance floor with Pietro behind him grinning like he's won something. Pietro moves like he has this intense urge to dance until he burns out, and they mix between sweaty bodies writhing along with the pulsating sound. Clint grabs Pietro's hips, pulls him right into his body. He's swept up in the hypnotic drone of the music and the way Pietro moves against him. Friction and heat. 

"Pietro," he murmurs, their foreheads almost touching. He leans in and crashes his lips against Pietro's. No need to fight it anymore. He tastes like schnapps and fruits and he chases after Pietro's own taste, licking into his mouth. Pietro grinds against him, moans and holds onto him as if he's afraid Clint is going to leave him on his own. He couldn't even if he wanted to. 

"Fucking finally," Pietro speaks into his ear once they part. Clint takes the opportunity to taste his skin like he's wanted, sucking a bruise into the exposed skin of his neck and he doesn't want to stop moving. Doesn't want to let go of Pietro, his body firm against his feels good, too good. 

He's positive it's a bad idea, but this is also probably the best bad idea he's ever had.


End file.
